No More Waiting
by armatta
Summary: Grissom tells Sara how he feels. Then he shows her. Some good ole smut on a Wednesday night!


A/N: Trying my hand at smut... let me know what you think!

Summary: Grissom finally bites the bullet and tells Sara how he feels... the results are... well, you'll see

Disclaimer: CSI belongs to CBS and no one else... I'm just renting the characters :-)

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Gilbert Grissom wakes up from a nightmare where he's falling in blackness, surrounded by the voices of those he loves, unable to reach them. Sara's voice is always the loudest and stays with him the longest after he wakes up. He's known for some time that he loves her, but he could never bring himself to act on it. It always seemed to be too much of a risk for both of them. After all, they are both borderline obsessed with their careers.

He's had this dream every night since he talked to Abigail Spencer about all of those dead kids. That case and all of its meaningless tragedy affected him more than he let on. Something about all their youth and promise touched him, made him think about his own life. As far as love affairs go, some of them had accomplished more in their brief 20 years than he head in his 50. It depresses him to think about it, but it also gives him hope. _It's never too late to start living_, he tells himself. And he knows exactly where to find the life he wants.

The next thing he knows, he sitting in his car outside Sara's apartment. Having double- and triple-checked the schedule, he knows they both have this time off. She's most likely at home. Of course, he could have called first but that probably would have sapped all his nerve and he would have made some excuse about needing to call her about some lab test results before hanging up and mentally berating himself for cowardice. He's waited so long to do this… he can't even remember what made him decide to talk to her.Steeling himself to his intentions, he purposefully strides away from the car to her front door.

Faltering only slightly, he knocks on her door. His heart pounds as he listens for movement, any indication that she's home and _alone._ He silently pleads that she's alone now or he may never get the nerve to try this again.

She opens the door without even checking the peephole… he was expected. She's wearing typical Sara sidle gear: jeans and a casual t-shirt. But still, she's lovely in her simple clothes. He's always loved that she isn't a prissy girly-girl, but more down to earth and approachable.

She smirks at his obvious nervousness and gestures for him to come inside. He gratefully does with a quick, "thank you." He thinks about the last time he was here… it was several months ago. She had a beer in her hand and sarcastically referenced her humiliating DUI incident. She had also cried and told him about her horrible childhood—the abuse, the degradation, the violent murder of her father that had torn their family apart for good. He had comforted her then, been a supervisor and friend… but today he refuses to be a makeshift shrink. Today he's just Gil, a man who loves her.

She stands there watching him remember, waiting for him to act. She's always waiting for him, he thinks. Finally, impatient, she asks, "Gris, why are you here?" There is an edge in her voice that he regrets. Why is it so hard to _talk_ to this woman?

"Can we sit, please?"

She nods and they silently sit on her couch, very close to where they sat the last time they were here. He doesn't know where to begin… how can he know if she wants to hear what he has to say? She's always so guarded with everyone, especially him. The worst part is that he knows that she's right to protect herself from him.

He wants to just launch into how he feels about her, but he chickens out. "You've been avoiding me lately. I wanted to talk about it."

Still unwilling to give up, he closes the distance again and takes her hands in his. She looks away from him and murmurs, "Gris… I…" but she can't finish.

Could it be that he's wrong about how she feels? He thought she loved him, but he's not so sure now. Then an unbearable thought crashes through him. What if she _did_ love him, but has since moved on? What if he missed his chance? _No…Anything but that…_

"Sara, listen to me." He shakes her hands forcefully, pulling her gaze back to his. This is his last chance, and this time there would be no ambiguity. If he is going to leave her again, it will be because she has denied him with no room for interpretation. If he's going to give up, he needs her to say she doesn't love him, no matter how painful that will be.

"Do you remember when you asked me to dinner a couple years ago?" She nods. "I told you I didn't know what to do and you told me that by the time I figured it out, it would be too late." She nods again. Can the woman never speak when he needs her to?

"Sara?" he says, his voice rising in panic.

"What?" she manages, still overwhelmed by it all, barely understanding what he's saying to her.

"Is it?"

"Is it what?"

"Is it too late? Have I lost you forever?" He can barely make himself say the words. Would she torture him now? She must have felt tortured herself all this time while he immersed himself in his conflicting impulses, unable to give her what she wanted… what they _both_ wanted. His stomach knots when he realizes that if she does reject him, he has more than earned it.

He hardly notices that she's started crying again. Silent tears roll down her cheeks and his face falls. But then she squeezes his hands and laughs through her tears. For a second he thinks she's laughing at him, adding insult to injury. But her laugh isn't cruel—it's joyous. And he can laugh with her as she says, "God, you're such an idiot."

"Tell me about it," he says ruefully.

She takes a small step to bridge the gap between them, gently pressing her body against his. The effect is instantaneous: he flushes and shivers slightly when she presses her lips to his cheek. Then she lightly runs them against his ear, tickling it with her soft breath. "Gil," she purrs and his stomach flip flops when he hears her verbally caressing his seldom-used first name. "Are you listening, Gil?"

He groans an affirmative. He can almost hear a sly smile spreading across her lips. "When I told you that you might be too late, I was bluffing. You should have known that. You're the love of my life, Gil… you could never be too late."

He's had enough talking for once. He cups her face in his hands and kisses her more firmly than he's ever kissed anyone before. The kissing is even better this time as their lips and tongues fight for dominance in each other's mouths. He envelops her in his arms possessively and she sighs in acquiescence.

He lets his hands stray over her body as his lips continue to meet hers in passionate kisses. He's always imagined the tautness of her body and the softness of her curves, and she does not disappoint. Her arms wind around his back in response, and she holds onto his shoulder blades as he lowers her back to the couch. They say nothing but for once their silence is helpful. Eyes and bodies take over the communicating.

He lays her down on the couch and hovers over her. His eyes search her for some sign of hesitation, but he finds none. She begins unbuttoning his shirt, her smile wicked and anticipatory. Wanting desperately to feel his skin against hers, he pulls her shirt over her head and holds her against him, stomach to stomach, chest to chest. The sensation is exhilarating and he groans softly.

She finds his mouth with her fingertips and he crushes his mouth on hers again. So much passion and arousal in their kisses, he thinks, _why did we wait so long?_ She makes soft moaning noises, increasing his arousal. His erection strains against his jeans and he fleetingly wonders if they are going to make love on this couch. Her hands undoing the fly of his jeans tells him they are.

But he's making her do all the work again and that simply won't do. With gentleness and strength, he takes her hands and places them around his neck. _Too fast_, he thinks, _I want to take my time and _enjoy_ this._ He sees dejection in her face and kisses her again, whispering into her mouth, "No rush, my dear… we have as much time as we want."

She sighs and relaxes and kisses him slowly, patiently, playing his game. He trails sweet kisses down her chin, her neck, to her breastbone. She shifts under him in anticipation as he fingers the lace of her bra, testing her, teasing her. He cups her breasts, feeling her nipples harden under the flimsy satin. She moans again, enjoying his attentions. He undoes the front clasp, and blows softly on her exposed nipples, making her entire chest erupt into goose bumps. Before she can react, he deftly takes a nipple in his mouth, teasing it to stiffness with his tongue.

She groans and rakes her fingers through his hair. He delights in how his attentions please her, excite her. He moves his mouth to her other nipple, sending new shivers through her, while his fingers press into her belly, inching down to the waist of her jeans. Her arousal hitting new heights, he unzips her jeans and she eagerly assists him in taking them off. He breaks away from her breast and takes her mouth with his again, where she kisses him with renewed ardor. Meanwhile, his fingers lazily dance across her thighs, carefully avoiding her panties where he can already see her wetness seeping through. He can feel himself getting harder by the second and he knows he can't wait much longer.

She's obviously thinking the same thing as she grunts, "Damn you, Gil," and shoves her hand down his pants, gripping his cock. He gasps as she begins running her fingers down the length of his shaft and back up again, finding a delicious rhythm. He responds by pulling her panties off and letting his fingers invade the wet folds he has uncovered. Her grip tightens on his cock and he whispers, "Jesus, Sara…"

Enough is enough—he can't hold back another second. His pants and his boxers suddenly gone, he presses his hands inside her thighs, opening them up to allow him inside her. He looks at her again, checking that she wants this. She nods, wide-eyed and that is good enough for him.

He eases his cock between her legs, using it to torment her further. "Gil!" she yelps, her eagerness getting the better of her. He smiles languidly and thrusts himself inside her, her slick insides guiding him easily inside until he has penetrated her fully. The sensation is almost more than he can bear and he nearly falls on her, pressing his face into her shoulder. He is surprised at the depth of his emotion and tears sting his eyes. He has never realized how much he loves her, how much he needs her until now that she has given herself completely to him. It devastates him.

Sara's voice mercifully brings him out of his head. She breathes his name as she plants kisses on his forehead and cheek. He brings his head up to look at her, disbelieving that she could actually want _him_ the way he wants her. He's never been lucky in love, never found this kind of closeness with anyone.

She rocks her pelvis back and forth, releasing his cock then grasping it again. Heat shoots up his groin and settles into the pit of his stomach. He remembers himself again and pushes deeper inside her before withdrawing slightly and driving himself into her again. She calls out in pleasure and begins matching his rhythm with thrusts of her own.

Always the expert observer, Gil measures her enjoyment, times his thrusts perfectly to coincide with hers. He pulls her knees up to allow him to penetrate her deeper and she again cries out, this time louder. He quickens his pace, forcing her to keep up with him, stimulating every inch inside of her. Her body braces itself under him and he can feel the pleasure coming to a beautiful crescendo. As her back rises, arching itself to allow him deeper into her, he gives her one good thrust, sending her over the edge. She nearly screams, fingernails digging into his skin, as her orgasm rips through her.

But he doesn't stop and let her come down. He cups his fingers around her ass, pulling her harder against him, thrusting harder against that sensitive spot inside. She calls his name over again as another orgasm shakes her to the core, this one even more intense than the first. "Oh God, Gil!" she shouts. And he can hold on no longer, spilling himself into her, speaking her name with trembling lips.

They lie in each other's arms for some time, barely fitting on her couch, but deliriously happy nonetheless. He notices that her breathing is still shallow. "Are you okay?" he asks tentatively.

She giggles in response. "More than. You?"

"I feel… incredible…"

"That _was_ incredible." More giggling follows and she nestles closer to him. "What are you thinking about?"

" As D.H. Lawrence once said, 'Sex is our deepest form of consciousnes... It is the consciousness of the night, when the soul is almost asleep.' I never knew how true that statement was until now."

"You would find it necessary to quote someone at a time like this."

"I often find my own words too meager to express how I feel."

She smiles at him, letting her love exude through her eyes. Kissing him gently, she says, "Somehow I don't think that's going to be a problem anymore."


End file.
